Slipping Into Madness
by Elefuntastic
Summary: This is how I imagine things might be if Katniss never recovers from the trauma of the Games. CATCHING FIRE SPOILERS! DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ CATCHING FIRE! Rated T kuz some readers might find it ...scary.
1. I See Them, They See Me Too

**TAKES PLACE AFTER CATCHING FIRE, IN DISTRICT 13. THIS IS HOW I IMAGINE KATNISS COULD BE IF SHE NEVER GETS OVER THE HUNGER GAMES. I OWN NOTHING.**

I know I'm crazy. It's the only way to explain the things I see, and I see them all the time. Most of them look the same as the last time I saw them, mangled and broken and…gone. I know I'm crazy to fear them, because I know they can't be real. I used to think they were, but when no one else could see them, I knew that I had finally lost it.

Now, I sit on my bed in my room in my new house, curled up into a ball, bow and arrow in hand, waiting for them to come again. Wholes line the walls where my arrows have gone right through them, only provoking them further, making them moan my name, asking me to end the pain, or worse, to bring them back. All those faces, screwed up in masks of rage and terror, haunting me. I used to make Prim sleep with me at night so I didn't have face them alone, but that quickly ended when I nearly shot her.

It had been a torturous night of memories and haunting, and when I screamed out, startled awake from my nightmare, Prim tired to calm me, but I was too far gone in my hallucinations to discern her from the monsters that claw at me day and night. Her terrible scream was the only thing that roused me from my dementia enough to tilt my bow at the last second. I leave the arrow in the ceiling as a reminder that I am now a danger to myself and to others. Prim, being the angel that she is, has forgiven me; even opted to sleep with me still, but I won't allow it.

They're back again, now. I know them all by sight, even though most are unrecognizable. Cato, once large and strong, now cries out to me, asking me to end his pain. Blood trickles endlessly from multiple wounds on his body, and he uses it to smear a target on the dead, gray skin of his forehead, begging me to shoot my arrow, to end his suffering. I resist the urge because I know from past attempts that it will not work, and my mother will just have to sedate me again.

Now Glimmer emerges from a shadow in the corner of my room, creeping slowly, her body changing from woman to wolf as it escapes the shadows. Her eyes stare into mine, and I swear I hear her whisper; _One day, this will be you_. I stifle a scream and hope that no one will hear my whimpering. Glimmer paces slowly in front of my bed, making escape impossible as she stares me down further.

I have to cover my mouth quickly as I let out a startled shriek when an eerie gurgling sounds from behind me. I turn my head slowly, knowing what it is, but still to scared to look at it. Foxface climbs up onto my bed from under it, foaming at the mouth, moaning softly as the poisonous berries she ingested over a year ago take their toll on her body from the inside out. I scamper to the farthest corner of my bed, my hands tremble violently as I try to use my pillows as a shield. Foxface perches herself on the opposite corner of the bed and wretches over the edge onto the wooden floor below. When she finishes, bloody saliva and a bit of green-purple froth remain on her mouth as she gaps, incapable of sound, at me. The only word I can read off her lips is "death".

I cower further into the corner as the bodies of other dead tributes begin to clutter my room, each terrifying in their own way, but the worst has yet to come. She always saves herself for last. I know she is coming when a sinister whistle rings in my ear. It was once a lovely four note tune, meant to mean safety and the end of a hard day, but now it only announces my greatest fear. I feel her before I see her, small hands grip my shoulders from behind, and I know I have no escape. A chill goes down my spine as she leans in to whisper in my ear; _You should have saved me…_

This time there is no muffling my scream. The rest draw closer, as if excited by my fear, and begin to climb onto my bed, joining Foxface and the ghost of Rue. I hear hurried footsteps outside my door and squeeze my eyes shut tightly, waiting for the demons to disappear. My door is thrown open, and someone rushes inside. I open my eyes, and the spirits are gone. They never stay for company unless I'm too tired to fend them off. Before I know what is happening, Gale has wrapped me up in his arms, and I am sobbing.

Finnick, who followed Gale in, turns on the light and then leaves, probably to tell my mother that everything is okay. I'm just having another "episode". Gale is saying something, his tone suggesting that it is meant to comfort me, but I can't listen to him because a Mockingjay has landed atop my dresser, and I know Gale can't see it. It spreads its wings and sings a four note tune before flying straight at me, causing me to scream and thrash about in Gales arms. He tries to wrestle me down, making sure I don't hurt my self like I have so many times in the past, but it's no use. I only stop when my mother manages to jam a needle into my arm, and I am subdued, banished to my nightmares that are so much worse than reality.


	2. In The Dark

I OWN NOTHING. (THAT SEEMS A LITTLE…SHORT, SO I'LL ADD THAT THIS IS CHAPTER TWO OF THE "BOOK" THAT "FOLLOWS" CATCHING FIRE, SO IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THAT, DON'T READ THIS. ALSO, THANKS TO ALL THOSE WHO READ AND REVIEW MY STORIES, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY IT MAKES ME. I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THIS.

My eyes snap open, and I welcome the solitude that greets me when I wake. Normally I would crave Peeta's presence, and I do, but this solitude is better than waking up in Gales arms. It's nothing against Gale, but waking in his arms; him holding me too close, is just too much. Too much when I'm not yet sure of my feelings for him. His arms feel unfamiliar and restrictive, like his is trying to hold me there and never let me leave, which is entirely possible.

As I do every morning, I quickly scan the room for any hidden phantoms. Once I know it's all clear, I walk to the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth, and braid my hair back. I skip the shower until later when I might need to cry hysterically in a place where no one can hear or see me. A place where tears are water droplets, puffy eyes are the result of too-hot water, wailing is singing, and my mother can't barge in and try in vain to comfort me.

I usually break down a couple times a week, something I have no control over. I sob unceasingly for nearly an hour, ghosts of my past haunting my mind rather than appearing before me. I cry for them, I cry for my old life, I cry for the people I have directly or indirectly hurt, but most of all, I cry for Peeta, who is out there somewhere, probably being tortured for information that he doesn't have, only to be killed when the Capitol realizes how ignorant he is. My bottom lip quivers and my eyes sting with tears, but I tilt my head back to hold it together. It's much to early for a break down, and I hear someone coming my way.

Gale is standing before me when I turn. I cringe as I see torn cloth bandages, likely covering cuts, along both his arms indicating that I clawed him again last night.

"It's okay. I'm used to it by now." He says to me, sensing my guilt.

"I'm not." I say.

"We're going out again today. Finnick says he might know where they're keeping them." Gale says. "Going out" means attempting to brink Peeta, Cinna, and all the others who weren't lucky enough to be relocated to District 13 before the Capitol could capture them, here. I used to get excited and hopeful whenever such a mission was announced. I used to beg to go, too, but not anymore.

Getting my hopes up, risking my life and freedom for nothing, have hardened my heart to the possibility of success. The "Mockingjays", as they call themselves, consists of Finnick, Gale, a handful of other men and women who retreated to District 13, and even Haymitch on occasion.

Whenever someone on the inside, a traitor to the Capitol, finds a loophole in the system, they tell Finnick and he and the other Mockingjays create a plan. Finnick became a self appointed liaison between the Capitol Rebels and District 13 because of his solid connections due to years of being a tribute favorite. Now, I nod at Gale, but make no further comment on the matter.

"I know you don't think it will work this time, but Finnick and I have a good feeling this time." Gale says.

"You and Finnick had a good feeling last time, too, and you came back with two fewer Mockingjays than when you left. It's not worth it anymore, Gale. Until the riots calm, there is no point in challenging the Capitol further. There's too much security and Snow has put a bounty on all of our heads for the time being."

"That's all true, but Finnick's source says that Peeta and the others are being transferred to a "Correctional Facility" tomorrow afternoon, and this may be our last shot at saving them." Before Gale can continue, I storm past him, go up the stairs, and slam the cellar door behind me. I can't bear to hear that our last chance at saving Peeta, Cinna and the others has finally come, knowing that our efforts will only weaken us.

I continue walking, leaving everything else behind me. We are all living in some kind of Community fall-out from when District 13 used to produce nuclear weapons. The people here, many of them original citizens who hid under ground, are trying to gather enough supplies to begin nuclear production again. Everyone lives in underground fall-out shelters, structured to house multiple families.

I've hardly met anyone new, mostly because I should be committed and spend most of my time crying and fending off ghosts. The underground shelters offer little light, whatever light we have comes from electric lamps fueled by water mills outside of town. The concrete walls and dark rooms are the perfect breeding place for my hallucinations, and it would probably be better to get out more often, but I don't want to have a break down in front of strangers and risk making them have to find Gale to restrain me. I cross the room directly above my bedroom to the make-shift kitchen where Prim sits. Her hair looks much darker in the shadow where the light doesn't reach. Why is she sitting in the dark? She could hardly stand the dark back home, always had to sleep in the moonlight.

"Prim, what are you doing in the dark?" I ask. She says nothing, makes no indication that she heard me at all.

"Prim?" I walk over to her, and can now hear soft sobbing.

"Prim, honey, are you okay?" I ask, worried now. I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, and a mangled, gray hand covers mine. Prims head snaps to my direction so fast, it's inhuman, and before I can stop myself, I'm screaming and running down the stairs to the bathroom, throwing myself into the shower and letting the chilly water cover up my wailing. Because that was not Prim. It was Rue, and she was crying for me, because she knows that my fate is not much different than hers.

Someone is pounding on the bathroom door, trying to break it down, but I ignore them, crying to hard to care who it is. The door finally gives and Gale is here, lifting me off the floor of the shower, though I don't remember sitting. He carries me to my room, strips off my soaking clothing and dresses me in something dry, but I'm not embarrassed that he sees my body because all I can see is Rue's dead hand grasping my own. Gale whips my face clean of tears and tucks me into bed for what he believes is some much needed rest. I hear him leave, hear him assure my mother that I'm okay. I hear Prim ask him what happened to me, hear Gale tell her he doesn't know; that I was fine a moment ago. I hear them discuss me as if the feeble wooden door were made of stone.

"I-I-I don't n-know h-how to h-help her!" my mother sobs.

"Shhh mom, it's okay. She'll get better, she just needs time." Prim comforts her.

"Prim's right, this is Katniss we're talking about. I don't know anyone stronger than her." Gale says.

How much I wish they were right, because now I feel like giving up. Allowing the dead, creeping things of my terrifying reality consume me until there is nothing left; until I am as dead as they are.


	3. In The Daylight

**I OWN NOTHING. (I'll just babble here for a moment so that statement doesn't look so lonely…)**

"I loved you!

You hurt me!

I loved you,

You hurt me, bad…" –Room 409 ~Bullet for my Valentine

"If you guys take two extra guys, you won't need me."

"If you come, we won't need to take two extra guys from their families."

"Why should I have to be the one who leaves his family?"

"Because you already said you'd go, and you have more experience than anyone one that's not already going."

I wake to the sound of raised voices. It must be early in the morning, because the voices sound angry, but subdued, as if whoever the voices belong to are trying to keep quiet. I recognize Gale and Finnick's voices. Gale seems to be arguing with Finnick about something he doesn't want to do.

"Finnick, I can't leave her here right now. Her mother doesn't know how to handle her episodes and Prim won't admit it, but she's too scared to deal with it. Now, unless you can make Haymitch sober up enough to take care of her, I'm the only one who can. I need to stay."

"She's a big girl, Gale. She doesn't need you to rescue her. Besides, if we succeed this time, Peeta will be back and he can take care of her. Man up and get your carcass to the surface so we can leave."

A door slams violently and I hear Gale swear under his breath as he passes my door. His footsteps slow from their angry pace, and then I hear them come back my way. I close my eyes and feign sleep as my door opens and a slim pillar of light from a lantern cuts across my face. The light is shadowed as a figure steps into it, and then there is weight on the end corner of my bed. A hand grasps mine and a pair of lips grazes my forehead.

"Be strong." Gale whispers. His hand leaves mine, and he begins to walk away. I know that now is the last time I can say this and hope for it to happen. The last time my plea can possibly be answered, because after today, if they don't succeed, I'll never get another chance. I know I shouldn't make myself hope; allow myself to believe, but I have to today, because I don't think I'll make it through this week if I don't. So I say it.

"Please, bring him back to me."

My voice cracks and a sob breaks free. I didn't know I was so dangerously close to tears. Gale turns; looks me in my watering eyes. Anguish puts ugly creases on his face, and I know that what I have asked him has hurt him, but I had to ask. He stares at me for a moment, then turns around. I think he is going to walk away for but he looks to the ceiling before facing me once more, his eyes bright and wet. He clears his throat.

"I'll do my very best." He says, and then he leaves, his eyes on the floor. My door closes, and I am shrouded in darkness again. A moment of silence greets his departure before a dark figure steps forward from the darkest corner of my bedroom. _If he fails, I'll die, and it will be all your fault… _Peeta's voice echoes in my head. I press my pillow into my face and stifle a scream, squinting my eyes shut. When I look back to the corner, Peeta is gone. I bring the pillow back to my face and cry until I lose consciousness again.

I don't know how much time passes as I sleep, but after what seems like hours, I am woken again, this time by Prim.

"Mother made you lunch. You missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning and she says you need to eat something." Prim says.

"I'm not hungry."

"Well that's too bad, because I've been told to make sure you eat every bite."

"Then you'll be here awhile." I say. I can't think about food right now. The hunger keeps me alert; makes the difference between my visions and reality more prominent. If I eat, I'll become comfortable, and the spirits won't tolerate that for long. They prefer that I suffer like them, my stomach eternally empty as I waste away to nothing.

"Well I haven't got all day, Katniss. I have things to do. Unlike you, I'm not allowed to just lie around all day. I have children to watch and meals to prepare for the workers." Prim snaps at me. I gap at her, shocked that she could be so frank with me. I sit up obediently and allow her to place the tray of food on my lap. My plate's surface is mostly taken up by a surprisingly lush salad and a freshly baked roll sits off to the side. The leaves of the salad are dark green, and there are bits of chicken strewn throughout. An oily glaze has been tossed into the salad, and the whole thing smells healthy and fresh.

"Mother tried to cover the basic food groups. She's convinced that you'll become so malnourished, you'll shrink away." Prim says absently, playing with a strand of her long blonde hair. The bread smells like Peeta, and I set the roll on Prim's lap.

"I'll be nourished enough without the bread." I say.

"Are you sure? Mr. Mellark made it special…" I swallow hard and ignore her statement, trying to force the lump in my throat to the pit of my stomach.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, but you have us all so worried. You lie around here all day either tossing and turning in your sleep or crying and screaming while awake. I just…I just want you to hurry up and get better." I look up and tears are trailing down Prim's cheeks. I set my food aside and take her into a hug.

"I just want to get better, too." I say.

Twenty minutes later I have finished all my food, except for the bread which Prim ate for me before she left. I decide to clean myself up and do a little house work. I make my bed and straighten my pillows, then sweep my floor. On a whim, I go to the community room; the room that connects all the single family housing units underground, and grab a spare lantern. Centered on the wall above my bed, the dim light brightens the eerie shadows and makes me feel a bit safer. After a quick shower, I start to braid my hair, but stop half way through. I find my mother in the room she and Prim share and ask her to braid my hair for me.

"I would love to." She says, and she smiles in a way that I haven't seen in a long time. My hair now sits atop my head, braided artistically and I feel more human than I have since I was dragged into the games for round two. I shiver as my mind rests on the games, and I struggle for force the memories from my mind. Maybe some fresh air would help. I know I shouldn't risk a public break down, especially without Gale here to keep me from hurting others and myself, but today I feel like I can handle it, because today I feel like I might actually see Peeta again. I just hope it's really him this time.

The sun is blindingly bright as I climb though the tunnel of a hatch door. I shouldn't be, but I'm shocked to see that things on the surface have changed quite a bit. I pictured bare fields of grass like the ones I had seen when I first arrived, but now there are small gardens everywhere. This must be where my fresh salad came from. I tread lightly through the clusters of vegetables and herbs. Five minutes later, I'm walking though fields of flowers. I recognize many of them and realize these are the plants my mother uses for healing. It occurs to me that she may be the only person knowledgeable enough to treat people here. If so, she is handling the stress very well.

Once I distance myself from the garden, I find myself in a market of sorts. Random mismatched tables and booths sit in a wide arch that is linked between two hatch doors which are oddly propped open. Men and women stand behind the booths and tables, everyone talking at the same time. The place is loud and when I concentrate on a single voice, I can make out most of what people are selling. The woman at the booth closest to me calls out to no one in particular about sleeping bags, and the counter before her is strewn with both Capitol manufactured sleeping bags and what appear to be home made blankets that were sewn together to form bag.

The man at the table next to hers was turned around, hanging clothing on makeshift racks and calling over his shoulder.

"Willing to trade two child shirts for a loaf of bread!" he exclaimed. No sooner than his words left his mouth, a woman charged his station from three tables over and thrust a loaf of bread into his hands. He inspected it for a moment, and then set a pile of small shirts on the table for her to look though. She sifted through the pile and found two that were in good shape and then walked to a different station, a satisfied smile on her face. Two small children greeted her and she handed each a shirt. Their eyes lit up, and I began to wonder just how desperate everyone here was. I had never needed much, and therefore never wanted for much in the time that I have been here, but perhaps my mothers medical ability had provided us with more than I thought. The clothing man shouted something about an offer being closed, and he went back to stocking his racks.

I skipped ahead in my observations to the stand where the woman had run over from. My heart stopped, my vision blurred, and for a moment, I saw Peeta. But it wasn't him. It can't be him. I couldn't control myself and I ran fast and hard toward the bread table. Peeta stood with his back to the crowed and I leaned over the table between us and grabbed his shirt, spinning him around. In the five long seconds it took me to realize I'd made a mistake, I choked on a quick intake of breath and had to sink down to my knees to keep from falling over. When I stood again, "Peeta" was staring at me.

"You thought I was-"

"Yeah." I cut him off as he tried to understand why I was acting like the crazy person that I am.

"I'm sorry, I'm his brother Packer. You're Katniss Everdeen." He said, and he stared at me as if he was trying to figure out how to react to seeing me. It was rather awkward.

"Yeah, I am. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to attack you, I just thought-"

"-I was him. Yeah, my mother still calls me "Peeta" sometimes. My father too. Don't worry about it. I understand how you might get a little excited." He said kindly, but his eyes shown with hurt and it was obvious that he was tying not to miss his brother. I decided to change the subject for his sake, and for mine. I was sure to have a break down any moment now if I didn't stop thinking about…him.

"How's your father doing?" I asked.

"He's as good as can be expected. He talks about you a lot. I'll have to let him know that you were out and about today. He's been a bit worried about you." Packer says, as if it is normal for his father to discuss me and even worry about me.

"I've just been…busy lately." I manage. I should go soon. My body hasn't quite recovered from my near heart attack and my mind keeps focusing dangerously on Peeta. This was a bad idea.

"Busy. Sure." He says. "You look a little pale. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just…have to go…right now." I say and I take off at a run. In seven strides my legs weaken and I fall. I scramble to my feet and sprint off again. My body seems to be jerking uncontrollably, and when I trip a second time, I realize that I am sobbing. If must be a combination of my mistake and Mr. Mellark's misplaced affection, but whatever the cause, it has sent me over the edge. Why did I think I could do this? Of course I had to know that I would run into one of them. Their family came here with mine. How could I be so stupid as to think that I could handle the risk of seeing one of them? I gain enough control over my convulsing body to stand and walk the rest of the way to my families hatch. Once inside I stumble around until I find my room, where I curl up in a ball on my bed and cry.

_You see how your selfishness has damaged my family? Just think how they will blame you once they realize that you killed me _Peeta's voice sounds in my ear. I hear the voice, feel the warm breath, and when I open my eyes, he is there. _You burned me, girl on fire. How do you live with yourself?_ He says, and his body bursts into flame, leaving ashes that settle on the floor and swirl about the room. The next thing I know, Prim is by my side making shushing noises because I am screaming. My mother is outside my door, leaning against the wall. Her hand finds her mouth and she is crying. Prim tries to calm me, but it can't be done, and with no Gale her to restrain me, my family is helpless. They leave, closing my door and let me cry and scream until I am too exhausted to carry on.


	4. I See Him, You See Him Too

**SORRY IF I'VE MADE ANYONE WAIT TOO LONG FOR AN UPDATE, I'VE BEEN CRAZY (ALMOST AS CRAZY AS KATNISS) BUSY LATELY. (ALSO I'VE BEEN WORKING ON CATCHING SPARKS NEW CHAPTER IN MY SPARE TIME) BUT I JUST HAD A SUDDEN BURST OF INSPIRATION, BUT IT'S FOR LATER IN THE STORY. PROBABLY HAVE IT UP TONIGHT THOUGH ALONG WITH THIS CHAPTER. I'M EXCITED FOR THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE THIS IS THE FIRST "SCENE" THAT I PICUTRED WHEN I CAME UP WITH THE STORY IDEA. DON'T GET ME WRONG, GETTING HERE WAS AWESOME, BUT THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN ROLLING AROUND IN MY HEAD FOR SEVERAL WEEKS. PLEASE REVIEW (EVEN IF YOU HATE IT, CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM IS A **_**GOOD**_** THING), IT HELPS MOTIVATE ME TO UPDATE, AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY! ~Summer**

"Every parting is a form of death,

As every reunion is a type of heaven."

~Tryon Edwards

_Wake up, Katniss_…

_Open those beautiful grey eyes and say hello…_

_Katniss…_

_It's a new day…_

_At least you're alive…act like it…_

Peeta's voice had been beckoning me from the depths of sleep for hours. I stir slightly, rolling over onto my stomach, and try again to fall asleep.

_Katniss…_

_Katniss…_

_Katniss!_

"Leave me alone!" I wail, unable to control myself any longer. I open my eyes and quickly scan the room, but find that his angelic form is nowhere. Somehow, I am disappointed. It's been two days since the Mockingjays set out on their mission, and I have hardly had a moment in solitude since. While I am not burdened by the presence of my family, Peeta's spirit has kept close. I make it a point not to picture him dead, because I know that if I do, it will be the only way I see him, and the angelic form that he currently possesses will contort until it is the thing that haunts my nightmares. He seems to visit me only when I am at peace. The last time he graced me with his presence in a time of panic was two days ago after I ran from the market. But now he wakes me from my dreamless sleep, invades my quiet shower time, and pulls my thoughts from hope of his return to fear of his demise.

As for my family, neither Prim nor my mother can bare to be in the same room with me, I suppose. Normally one or the other creeps into my room every few hours to make sure I haven't hung myself with the bed sheets, but I must have scared them away very well this time. Now though, as if being summoned by my thoughts, I hear someone coming down the stairs towards my room. The foot falls sound heavier than Prim's could be, so it must be my mother. Something is off though, the sound of something dragging doesn't belong. The foot falls make it sound like whoever they belong to is limping; thud, smack, drag. Thud, smack, drag.

The footsteps reach my hallway, and now the hair of my arms reaches for the ceiling. I whimper, hoping against all odds that it isn't Peeta, now a mangled corpse simply because I was grateful for his undead form. The thud smack drag moves down the hall, mere feet from my door. A second set of foot steps sounds at the top of the stairs and pause. Whoever follows Peeta must be waiting for my initial fear to commence before coming to torture me. Rue, perhaps? If so, this combination of haunts will surely kill me.

The door knob creaks as it's loose screws support the weight of a limp hand, and the sound of metal grinding against metal fills the silence as the knob slowly turns. A handful of seconds that span a life time pass as the door, more silently than I have ever heard before, opens. The floor boards don't squeak, the hinges of the door make no sound, even the air pressure remains the same.

The environment is stagnant as the spirit, something I never imagined, hobbles into my bedroom. Leaning on the door knob for support, his bruised and battered body blocks my only exit. His crooked leg, the cause of the smack drag, sticks out at an odd angle away from his body. His eyes rest on it for a moment, as he seems to be catching his breath which comes in measured, staggered drags. His hair, longer than I've ever seen it, falls over his face in dirty sweaty streaks. My gaze travels from the crown of his head to the tops of his bare feet. His clothing is torn and even burned in some places, blood stains mark each hole. As I carry my sights back up to his face I notice a cuff of some kind on his wrist. A thin but strong chain dangles, broken, from the cuff and the skin around it is pink and raw. I finally return to his face and horror fills me as his eyes meet mine.

"Katniss…" Cinna says.

"No!" I yell, "Not him too! Just leave me alone!"

He takes a pained step forward and leans against my door to close it.

"Shh…" he says, "Don't yell. I promised them that you wouldn't yell." His voice is like shoes on gravel, course and like a grind. His eyes plead with mine, and I know that it will only be a moment before he begs me to kill him, or to bring him back. It will only be a moment before I am begging him to forgive me, to leave me be. He limps forward, the thud, smack, drag now more sinister than before. Bile rises in the base of my throat when his limp leg catches on a uneven floor board and something pokes out from behind his pant leg. A bone, maybe? I swallow hard and back up into my bed.

"Don't come any closer! I can't help you! I'm so sorry, but I can't help you!" I am desperately trying to say something that will make him cease motion. I can't watch him move this way, like something half dead.

"They will make me leave if you continue to yell, Katniss. Please, be still."

I wanted to tell him that I would prefer if whoever "they" were did make him leave, but I couldn't bring myself to say the words. He is dead because of me, and this is my consequence. His green eyes, now rimmed in red rather than gold, stare at me and he takes a step closer. I don't know why, but I can't stand it. A scream gargles free from my throat and I throw myself as far away from him as possible.

"I'm not what you think I am!" he cries.

"You think I don't know? You're in my head, you're all in my head all the time. I hear you, I feel you, I see you and right now I can even smell you and I just want you to-"

"Calm down, Katniss. It's okay. Everything is okay." He cut me off. He seemed more real than the others. Somehow, more alive. I couldn't take it. Cinna had been innocent up until he made my wedding dress for me, making me an icon of freedom for the whole of the districts, ultimately sentencing himself to death for me. He had been my friend and confidant through the preparation for the games. He was the most decent person from the capitol that I knew and now he stands before me, nearly accomplishing the impossible, making me believe that what I see is real. A chocking sob takes me over and I fall to my knees on the hard floor. Through my blurred vision he comes closer, slowly limping toward me. I screech through my nonstop tears and smack his hand away as he tries to touch my face. Form behind him, Rue has finally desended the stairs to join us. _Look what you've done,_ she says, _Everything you touch turns to ashes…_

At that moment Finnick enters the room, an exhasperated look on his face. There is no needle in his hand meant to sedate me, and Gale doesn't follow him in to restrain me.

"Cinna, I don't think this is such a good idea. She's…she's not stable enough right now." Finnick says. I gasp.

"You can see him too?" Finnick nods and Cinna looks at me with eyes that shine with pity and concern. Before I can contain myself, I leap forward and collect Cinna in a tight embrace, crying harder than before. He grunts painfully but hugs me back tightly. Behind Finnick, Rue scowls menacingly at me.

_Why are you so happy?_ She begins to fade away, _If Cinna is here, then why isn't Peeta down here too?_

I sit holding Cinna's hand as he sleeps in a spare room. Rue's ghost looks down on me from where she is perched eerily on the ceiling, finger nails digging into the cement. She smiles when a shiver goes up my back, and I train my eyes instead on Cinna. As it turns out, they were very lucky to have rescued him. The Capitol suspected that there might be a rescue attempt and were prepared. Gale is in the room next door, resting off injuries that could almost compete with Cinna's. Finnick says he refused to leave until they found Peeta and rescued him. They finally had to carry him out of the area after he passed out from exhaustion.

Peeta.

Peeta wasn't being transferred with the others because his condition made him too weak and vulnerable to be moved, Cinna had told me. I winced, trying not to imagine injuries so horrible that your captors didn't want to risk moving you. Cinna said that Peeta has been letting false hints slip during the times that they "questioned" him, making them believe that he knows much more than he does. Once it was discovered that Peeta's knowledge of what was going on in district 13 was limited if not non-existent, they through out interrogative protocol and nearly beat Peeta to death. I tried in vain not to recall the next part of the conversation Cinna and I had had before he went to rest. "Katniss, he lost consciousness a couple days ago. They aren't moving him mostly because they don't see the point. I'm sorry, but I don't think he'll make it through the week." Cinna had said.

And that was it. Our very last chance at getting Peeta back has failed. Peeta will not survive the week. Rue laughs maniacally from the ceiling and my urge to sob over comes my will to remain collected.

I recall a moment; a moment that seems so distant now, though it can't have been that long ago. In this moment I lied to him. I told the biggest lie I have ever told and I didn't even realize it.

"So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" he had asked.

"Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." I had said.

**OKAY SO I THINK I GOT A BIT…HASTEY TOWARDS THE END THERE, BUT I DUNNO, THE MORE I READ IT THE WORSE IT SOUNDS, BUT THAT'S THE SAME OF ALL MY WRITING SO I'LL LET YOU DECIDE. I'M GOING TO START THE NEXT INSTALLMENT NOW AND HOPEFULLY HAVE IT UP TONIGHT. IT'S GOING TO BE A BIT DIFFERENT. ALSO, PLEASE DON'T EAT ME BECAUSE HE'S GONE. I PROMISE IT WILL GET BETTER. I'M TOO IN LOVE WITH PEETA TO CUT HIM OUT. ~Summer**


	5. I Have No Words

**OKAY SO I COULDN'T FIGURE OUT ANY OTHER WAY TO WRITE THIS ONE BUT IN THIRD PERSON BECAUSE I WANTED THE DIALOUG TO BE THE MOST PROMINENT PART, NOT THE THOUGHTS. SO THIS IS LIKE A … A SONNET OF SORTS. NOTA FORMAL SONNET, GRANTED, BUT IT'S A STREAM OF VERBALLY EXPRESSED THOUGHTS. THIS IS BASICALLY A GLORIFIED BLURB BASED ON AN IMAGINARY GREIF. ENJOY! PLEASE REVIEW WEATHER YOU'RE SITTING THERE THINKIN' "HEY THAT'S KINDA COOL" OR "OHEM GEE YOU SHOULD BE SHOT".**

"How do you cry when every tear you shed,

Won't ever bring him back again?"

~I hate myself for losing you By Kelly Clarkson

Cinna limped into the room on a pair of make-shift crutches that Elizabeth had constructed for him. Being the barer of bad news had never set well with him and the guilt of being the one to tell Katniss that the love of her life was probably not going to live through the week was settling hard in his stomach. It had been three days since he had come to District 13, and Katniss had not spoken a single syllable since he had explained Peeta's absence. Katniss now sat before the fire, tearing pieces of a freshly baked roll and throwing them into the eager flames. The chunks turned to ash almost instantly, and tears welled painfully in the corners of Katniss's eyes.

Cinna came level with Katniss on the carpeted cement floor and carefully shrunk down to sit next to her. He set his crutches aside and angled his body towards hers.

"Katniss?" he asked tentatively. She gave no reply, no indication that she had heard him at all. For all he knew, she hadn't. She did, however, tear off an especially large piece of the bread and threw it forcefully into the hearth.

"Katniss, will you please talk to me? You haven't spoken in three days. Everyone is worried about you." He said gently.

"I have no words." She whispered absently. Cinna stared at her blankly. Her eyes drifted slowly from the flame to his face.

"I have no words. What good are words now?" she asked.

"I don't understand." Cinna said.

"Words will not bring him back."

"But maybe talking to someone could help-" he started.

"I have witnessed the miracles that well discharged words can produce, but I know no such miracle will happen now." She said darkly.

"What words can I speak that will bring him back, that could set back the hands of time, that could erase my sorrow? Even words skillfully wielded by the most innovative of speakers would lie down and die." Tears fell harder and faster from her intense eyes as she stared at him, the flame of the fire reflected in each drop.

"What words can I use to right what is wrong? Through the ages words have been written in stanzas to bare poetry that softens hearts, they have created lyrics that inspire nations, have written stories that change lives, but there is no possible change now. There is no change in words; no comfort. If I could stand and yell the words in my head, they would make no difference. What words would I speak?"

"I'm sorry?" she scoffed,

"I will avenge you?" she rolled her eyes,

"I miss you?" her voice caught.

"Will these words bring him back?" she looked at him, begging him with her eyes to tell her that those words could indeed bring Peeta back to her.

"No." she answered her own question and turned her gaze back to the fire.

"So I have no words." She threw the remainder of the bread into the fire.

"To speak is to hope foolishly, and to hope is to die." She ran a trembling hand under her eyes and across her nose. A complicated silence followed and Cinna considered what she had said. Of course she doesn't know what to say. Of course a conversation will not save her. She turned to him with curious eyes.

"What words will you say when I'm gone? What will you say when the creatures in the corners of my mind finally devour me?" she looked desperate and afraid. Cinna was speechless, unable to answer her. From the corner of the room a terrifyingly familiar voice answered her for him.

_No one will say anything when we claim you, Katniss. They will all be better off when you are gone._ Peeta said, and only Katniss could hear him.

**SO TO BE COMPLETELY HONEST, I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS, BUT IT FITS THE STORY…SO THERE. ~Summer**


	6. Gone

**I OWN NOTHING. OKAY SO THIS IS ANOTHER THIRD PERSON BECAUSE KATNISS IS….INDISPOSED AT THE MOMENT. READ TO FIND OUT WHAT I MEAN. NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE UP RIGHT AFTER THIS ONE AS THEY GO TOGETHER LIKE FOUR AND FIVE DID. I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE, BUT IF IT DOESN'T PLEASE TELL ME SO IF\WHEN YOU REVIEW IT (HINT HINT, WINK WINK) OR PM ME. I APPRECIATE IT.**

The night that Katniss spoke to Cinna by the fire was the last anyone heard her speak. The sight of Peeta in the corner, claiming that her loss would be celebrated had managed to shut her down. Cinna got up quietly that night after their tense conversation and retired to bed. Everyone was asleep when Katniss herself finally became aware of her condition. She was gone, lost in her head, though she didn't know how to describe it. It wasn't until morning when she was discovered just where Cinna had left her, eyes open and unresponsive that Katniss's loved ones realized that she wasn't really there.

They each tried to bring her back to the surface, each choosing their own method, but all failed.

Gale, driven by love and persistence, called Katniss's name over and over until it hurt to speak, and even then he proceeded until exhaustion took him.

Cinna, feeling guilty and responsible tried to convince her that he had been wrong when he said that Peeta would not survive and that if she would return, so would Peeta.

Haymitch, drunk and obnoxious managed to slap Katniss smartly across the face three full times before Finnick hit him so hard he fell backwards. Haymitch slumped in the corner and mumbled about how striking Katniss was more likely to rouse her than trying to coax her out of her psychotic break.

Finnick, ever observant did not even attempt to bring Katniss back, believing that in time she would come to on her own.

Finally, Elizabeth and Prim each took one of Katniss's hands and together they gently tired to coax her from the darkness by reminding her of good times and pleasant memories, and finally describing the life they would have without her there. Their attempts, like everyone else's, were in vain and the two women were reduced to tears…

~Summer


	7. Back

**I OWN NOTHING! OKAY SO I HOPE THAT THIS ONE ALSO MAKES SENSE. LEMME KNOW IF ANYTHING IS…WEIRD LIKE YOU COULDN'T UNDERSTAND IT. IT MAKES SENSE TO ME, BUT I'M WRITING IT. THANKS TO ALL THOSE WHO READ AND ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO REVIEW. IT SERIOUSLY MAKES MY DAY WHEN I GET REVIEWS AND YOU'RE ALL SO ENCOURAGING. I'M GLAD YOUR ALL LIKEING THE STORY! HOWEVER, THERE ISN'T MUCH CRITISISM WHERE I KNOW THERE SHOULD BE, SO IF YOU GOT ISSUE WITH SOMETHIN', BE NOT AFRAID TO SPEAK IT! I'M AN OPTIMIST IN THE WORST WAY AND I TAKE CRITISISM VERY WELL. ANYWHO, THIS MESSAGE IS LONG ENOUGH. ENJOY:**

It's dark, so very dark here where I am. I don't know how else to describe this abyss. I feel that my eyes are open, but I see nothing, nothing at all. I must be dead, it's the only logical explanation. I suppose you truly can die of a broken heart. Of course, my heart was broken long ago. It's just taken this long for the pieces to be scattered so far by the winds of shame and torment that they can no longer be reassembled. I feel like it should ache somehow, this loneliness, but it doesn't. I feel nothing, and I believe that truth to be far more terrifying than anything that I have both seen and imagined in my life. I fought a seemingly endless battle of wits and strength for my life and the lives of my loved ones twice in an arena and countless times in my every day life as I struggled to be the sole provider for my small family, but none of it compares to the vulnerability and the fear that I now feel. I don't know where I am, what I am doing here or how I got here.

It's obvious that I am in some kind of purgatory. In school we learned about civilizations past where the inhabitants of this nation and others believed in a greater power, shrouded in mystery but omni present. They believed that their various gods watched over them to do them right and harm. Some of them believed that we come here from elsewhere and that we depart to an equally mysterious elsewhere. Our history books described these "elsewhere" as heavens and hells. Heaven was where the good people went and hell for the sinners. I don't know the details about sin and what sin entails, our history books never went into depth on the matter, but I'm pretty positive that killing people for sport and entertainment would have been a sin. So it's settled, if I am in one of those imaginary elsewhere, I must be in hell. Hell is dark, cold, and lonely…

I don't know how much time has past form my last train of thought to this one, but time seems to pass slowly here. Days or mere seconds may have passed, but I drift in and out of consciousness as I float through this empty time and space. It's hard for me to think here, but that makes sense. If I am to truly grasp this concept of heaven, hell and higher beings, then I must try to understand the way it all works. Without thought, there is insanity, and why should a place like hell allow you that simple shred of dignity. Thought, much like my heart, I lost my sanity long before now. Just as this semi-thought echoes in my mind, Peeta's voice sounds out in the darkness, calling my name. For the first time I realize that I am more than consciousness, I am somehow corporeal. My feet tingle as I become aware of them and somehow I am standing in the blackness. My heart pounds heavily in my chest, and I run towards the sound of his voice, but I can see nothing in the darkness and the sound ricochets off of invisible walls, making its origin impossible to detect. He calls out again, this time more softly.

"Please come back…" it says.

And I want to, but I just can't seem to find my way…

Another long stretch of time passes before I can collect myself enough to be aware. I feel something…something wet on my hands. I notice them at my sides and raise them to eye level. My hands shimmer slightly, lightly coated in what appears to be water. The oddness of this occurrence doesn't slip past me, but my ability to concentrate on it does, and in a moment, I am gone again.

And now I'm back, and I have to say that the times in which I am gone seem to be getting longer and longer, making the times that I am absent seem so short and distant—

Back once more, and I hardly even realized I was gone last time. I don't know what happens when I pop out, I am unaware of anything, like I've blacked out. It scares me, but it must be the punishment that whoever the keeper of this hell has found reasonable for my iniquities…

The differences between my presence and lack thereof become more subtle as time wears on, and soon I feel gone all the time. The only difference is that for brief moments, I know I am aware of myself, and then I am not for an extended period.

Something tugs at my awareness, strong and violent. It hurts somehow to acknowledge its presence, but I welcome even the pain in the void that I've been in for what seems like years. Whatever it is, I recognize it, and even as its name is on the tip of my tongue, it pulls harder. A tingling sensation spreads throughout my body, starting in my hands where I am aware of touch, and ending in my toes, like the feeling of blood rushing to give life to my entire being. I expect to have to abandon the welcomed feeling when I pop out again, but I don't leave at all. In fact, this is the longest I have been away in what feels like months. This realization thrills me, and my consciousness is enhanced ten fold. I am suddenly aware that my body is horizontal and not vertical as I had imagined it all this time. The touch in my hands feels like someone is holding them tightly.

Blood pumps in my ears, making my heart beat sound loud and energetic. Heart beat. If my heart is beating, then I must not be dead, which means that I cannot possibly be in my supposed hell, which also means that I still have hope. This thought is exhilarated when I hear his voice again.

"Please Katniss…Come back to me…please…just follow my voice and come back…" he says, and there is so much pain in his voice that I'm sure my face reflects it.

"Katniss? Katniss, did you hear me?!" he asks urgently now. I groan, making my throat hurt as it is the first time I have made a sound in ages.

"Elizabeth! Prim! Come quick, she's made a sound!" he calls out, then,

"Katniss? Katniss, honey, can you hear me? Can you make a sound for me again please?" and he sounds so vulnerable that I can't stand to make him wait. I cough and sputter as I try desperately to remember how to form words.

"Oh! Oh my baby!" a slightly familiar voice screams, and hands come down gently on my face.

"Katniss!" another familiar voice yelps, and a hand grasps my leg near my ankle.

Many other familiar voices seep into my consciousness, but I hear none of them as his beautiful voice whispers in my ear,

"I knew you would find your way…" my savior says, and lips find my forehead.

"Oh Peeta! How…how did you do it? What does it matter, you saved my child! I…our family will forever be in your debt!" a voice I now recognize as my mothers cries, and she pats my hair,

"Katniss, sweetie, its mamma. Can you open your eyes for me? Open your eyes, Katniss. Open your eyes for mamma…" she coos. I am stunned momentarily at hearing his name, because it confirms what I had believed. He really was here, my love returned from the dead. And they could see and hear him too, so he was real and I was not imagining him. This single truth was enough to awaken my body completely, allowing me to open my eyes.

The very first thing I saw was his smiling face, bright blue eyes rimmed with tears, perfect teeth encompassed by perfect lips and his golden hair longer than I've ever seen it. He was a bit bruise and battered, but he was Peeta.

**HOPE THAT ALL MADE SENSE AND I HOPE I MADE THOSE OF YOU WHO WERE DESPERATE FOR A LITTLE PEETA HAPPY. I KNEW THAT IF I PUT IT OFF ANY LONGER YALL WOULD SHOW UP AT MY DOOR WITH TORCHES AND PITCH FORKS! PLEASE REVIEW AND CRITIQUE! **

~Summer


	8. I'm Fine

**I OWN NOTHING. OKAY SO I FINALY FINISHED THIS BIT AND I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS SO HOPEFULLY THERE WON'T BE SO MUCH TIME BETWEEN THIS CHAPTER AND THE NEXT. MAN, IT FELT GOOD TO GET BACK INTO THIS ONE. HOPE YOU ENJOY. SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT. ~SUMMER**

"All because of you,

I haven't slept in so long…

I'll follow your voice,

All you have to do is

Shout it out!"

-The Good Left Undone, Rise Against

I have never in my life experienced a moment quite like this. My heart is racing, but I'm not afraid. My mind is forming thoughts faster than I can register them, but I am not panicking. My face is pulling in unfamiliar and uncontrollable directions—directions that form what must be a brilliant smile. And my hands have locked into fists, but not in preparation for self defense. Instead my fingers curl around his hand so tightly that I swear the white of my knuckles must be my bones pushing through. I must be crushing him, but he makes no move to free his hand. He just stares at me, his face reflecting the same expression I wear on mine.

We have not spoken much yet, preferring the silence in wake of the recent commotion of my "impending death" as Prim calls it. Now, though, it's time to hear his story. I can't fully believe he is here until I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it's possible. Right now, it's not. I gather my strength, take a deep breath, and sit up. Peeta moves to push me back down, but I slap his hand away.

"You're still weak, you shouldn't be moving around yet." His voice is absolute bliss, but I suck in another deep breath and ignore him. I stand up on the cold cement floor and, taking his hand, lead him through the door and up the stairs. My mother and Prim are at the kitchen table and they both gasp when they see me.

"Katniss, you shouldn't be up! You haven't used your muscles frequently enough to move around this much. You'll become dizzy!" My mother was panicking, speaking too quickly.

"Katniss, I'm no doctor, so you can ignore me all you want, but your mother knows what she's talking about." He says quietly to me, supporting a majority of my weight with a hand around my waist.

"I'm fine, mom." I say, ignoring him again; ignoring _Peeta_ again. Best not to think his name. Best not to get too invested in the idea of him actually being here. It's far more likely that this is all a dream fashioned by The Undertaker to torture me for eternity. First the cold and quiet, then the fading away, now the delusions that pick up just as I would have wanted them too. Prim grabbed my hand, and just as I am about to push her off, she gives it a quick squeeze and lets go. I smile weakly at her, hoping this is all as real as it feels.

We reached the first story hallway with the second stair case at the end. I limped along, cursing my legs for being so stubborn. Every step hurt, I was realizing. I hadn't felt it at first, but now I feel as if I am going through growing pains all over again. But I'm Katniss Everdeen, I survived the Hunger Games _twice_. I can handle this. I glance sideways at him. I can see him, feel him, smell him, hear his labored breathing as we make our way down the hall. He's hurt, that much is obvious, and I would feel guilty for making him move around so much, except he's probably not real. We are almost to the stairs when the door on the left opens and Gale steps out, followed by Finnick. Both men are carrying plates, most likely headed to the kitchen to dispose of them. I thought I smelled dinner. Gale stops abruptly when he sees me and then him, and Finnick bumps into Gales back.

"What the- oh." Finnick says.

"Katniss, you shouldn't be up yet. Let me help you back to your room." Gale says, taking my hand. I slap it away.

"I'm fine! I think I know what's best for me! I've been burned, beaten, and starved, I think I'll recover from sleeping too long!" I yell, fighting off the feelings of guilt I get from seeing Gales face as I push past him and up the stairs. We reach the final floor, and the only thing in our way is Haymitch.

"Nice to see the love birds back together again, even if one is half dead and the other is stark raving mad." Haymitch says, extending his foot as if to trip me. I step over him, wincing as the movement causes my calf to spasm and the muscles to knot. A Charlie-horse. Great. I climb the ladder ahead of us and throw the hatch open. This time, there is no sun shine to great me, but the light from the moon and stars is still enough to lend me the bravery I need to step into the darkness. Once he and I are though the hatch and on the small field, we realize we are the only ones out here at this time of night. The field is the only sparse amount of land there is aside from the paths that weave through the gardens. I lead us through a carrot patch to a bench that someone so thoughtfully placed about a quarter mile from our hatch. Once on the bench, we sat in silence for a moment.

"So," He starts, leaving the rest of his mystery sentence for me to finish.

"So, I was kind of rude to Gale and my mother back there. Sorry you had to see that…" I say lamely, avoiding the conversation that I brought him here to have.

"Not a problem. You've been through enough to have earned a little slack. I'm sure Gale understands." I'm sure he doesn't, but that's the difference between Gale and …Peeta. I suppose there is no point in avoiding my fears. Might as well say the name.

"So," What an increasingly awful way to start a sentence, "have you seen your family yet?" I ask him. He lets out a long sigh.

"Yes. I came straight to you when I finally got here, and so my family came to me. My father cried and hugged me, my brothers tackled me to the ground, my nephew tried to say my name, and my mother nodded at me before she squeezed my shoulder and went back to work. A standard family reunion. I told them that I had to be with you at least until you got better."

"And when did you get here?" I ask, trying not to focus on how wonderful it is to know that he came straight to me from whatever hell he had faced.

"Three days ago." He says shortly, taking my hand in his and tracing invisible designs across my palm. I should, but I don't take my hand away. If this is an illusion, I should enjoy it while it lasts.

"And how did you get here?" Time for the big questions. He looks me straight in the eye, and then directs his line of sight to the forest that skirts the edges of our fields and gardens. Beyond the forest is a fence, just like in all the other districts, but the difference is that this fence was put up by choice. The destruction of District 13 wiped out most human life, and all plant life, along with any evidence that people once lived here. Those who survived rebuilt and planted new trees, trying in vain to reconstruct the place they had once called home. The fence is actually a tall cement wall, the names of the ones lost in the attack etched in deep. Thousands of names, their ages next to them. Many of them children. It's a sad wall, but good for memories. I hope Peeta won't examine it too closely while we're here. I hope he won't notice that the day I gave up on him, I frantically scribed his name near the bottom of the section of the wall that happened to be right in front of us.

He clears his throat and I prepare to believe what he says, because if I don't, then this is all a cruel dream, and I really am lost.

**ANOTHER CLIFF HANGER, I KNOW, I'M TAKING FOREVER TO GET TO THE POINT. SORRY. HAVING DIFFICULTY WRITING THIS. COMMENTS, CRITIQUES? DID I LOSE HER VOICE? I FEEL LIKE I MAY HAVE. LEMME KNOW.**


End file.
